The low hum of music blurred around him, lights flickering softly against the dark wood of the club walls.
Noel sat still, eyes on the door.
He barely noticed the figure that slid into the booth across from him—smooth, confident, as if he belonged anywhere he sat.
"You must be Noel."
Noel blinked. A guy in a black shirt slid into the booth, chain glinting beneath the collar—messy, deliberate, confident.
His smirk was sharp, not wide, and his eyes held a kind of practiced calm.
"I've heard about you," the stranger said, resting his elbow on the table like they were already mid-conversation.
Noel straightened slightly, cautious. "And you are…?"
"Kian." He smiled, slow and casual. "I'm sure the name's come up."
Noel's stomach tensed.
Kian leaned forward, fingers tracing the rim of his glass. Confident. Effortless. The kind of guy people liked quickly. Noel couldn't be more different.
"Relax. I'm not here to fight over him or anything. It's not that kind of drama."
